


symphysis

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Charles Is a Darling, Charles is a med student, Erik is a Sweetheart, Erik is a surgeon, Exes still in love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 22:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18926185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: After Charles and Erik broke up four months ago, Charles convinced himself he'd never see Erik again. But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.





	symphysis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/gifts).



> This was written for jackyjango's prompt: "You've got a fever. Of course I'm not going anywhere." I didn't follow the prompt exactly (didn't even use those lines, oops), but it's got the general premise haha. I hope you enjoy this one, jacky!! 
> 
> This is a vague verse I've had brewing in my head where Erik is a surgeon and Charles is a medical student.

The headache started halfway through Charles’s second class. Sinking further down into his seat, he rubbed at his temples, hoping the throbbing would resolve on its own, or at least just plateau. But as the minutes passed, the pain only intensified, and by the time the professor dismissed them, Charles realized he was going to have to miss his afternoon lab. This was going to be a full-blown migraine, and he needed to crawl into bed with all the lights off and lie perfectly still for a couple of hours at least.  

He texted his anatomy tank to let them know that he’d be missing lab and then stood outside for a few minutes before deciding to get a Lyft home. Normally he took the train, but right now, the thought of dealing with hundreds of minds pressed in against his own just made his head ache more fiercely.

The Lyft driver tried a couple of times to strike up a conversation but gave up once she realized Charles wasn’t in the mood to talk. He just leaned his head up against the glass of the passenger window and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the nausea beginning to roil in his gut. This was going to be a bad one, he could tell. Damn it. He wasn’t going to get anything done today.

The Lyft driver dropped him off just in front of his apartment building. Charles just barely managed to stammer out a thanks before he grabbed his backpack and stumbled out, wincing at the bright glare of sunlight overhead. Inside, he didn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator; he climbed the stairs two at a time and hurried to his door, fumbling with his keys. The throbbing in his head was starting to feel more like an ice pick now, and his eyes were watering. God, he needed to lie down.

Finally he got the door open and threw his backpack down. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he made a beeline for the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and reached for—

It wasn’t there. His migraine meds weren’t there.

He stared at the empty shelf for a long, uncomprehending moment. Then realization struck: he’d gone to visit Raven over spring break two weeks ago, and he’d packed his meds, of course he had, just in case, and he distinctly remembered taking the bottle out as he’d been searching for his toothpaste, and he’d left it on the counter…

He could picture it in his head. He knew exactly where it was.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

He shut the medicine cabinet and bit his lip. How was he supposed to get through this without his meds? Even _with_ his meds, he normally had to lie down for an hour or so before he started to feel better. He hadn’t gone through a migraine without medication since he was sixteen. This was bad. This was really bad.

 _Don’t catastrophize_ , he told himself sternly. _You’re going to be fine. Just go lie down and maybe it’ll get better on its own_.

He got himself a glass of water and made himself drink a little, then toed off his shoes and crawled into bed. Briefly, he considered going out to get something over-the-counter, Excedrin or something similar, but those pills had never worked for him in the past. Besides, there was no way he could venture outside with this drilling pain in his head.

There was nothing to do but close his eyes and hope for the best. He buried his face in his pillow and told himself to just breathe.

He counted his way through a thousand breaths, then another thousand. _See? This is fine. Keep breathing. One…two…three…_

But the pain wasn’t getting any better. It wasn’t getting any _worse_ now either, thank god, but it was still unbearable. Maybe he could call Raven. Maybe she could send his meds somehow, or she could drive over. It was a three-hour drive but still…

Then he remembered: he had another bottle of Psytriptan. The one he’d left at Erik’s place.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. It wasn’t as if he could get it. He wasn’t in any shape to go over there to beg for it, and even if he was, his pride would never allow him to do that. Erik had told him to get out, and Charles had gotten out. The end.

And besides, Erik probably wouldn’t even open the door for him, let alone hear him out. Erik likely wasn’t even home right now—it was the middle of the day, he was probably in surgery or doing rounds, probably working. So it was a moot point.

So he told himself. But as another hour crawled by agonizingly, he couldn’t help but wonder if Erik might bring him his meds if he asked. Erik could be stubborn and snappish and mean, but he had never been cruel. He wouldn’t withhold Charles’s meds from him if he asked for them.

He lay there for several more minutes, fighting down another wave of nausea, before he finally swallowed his pride and reached for his phone. He’d deleted Erik’s number weeks ago, just after they’d broken up, but he hadn’t forgotten it. The blessing and curse of an eidetic memory.

Even at the lowest brightness setting, squinting at his phone screen still hurt. Charles managed to punch in the numbers and sent the briefest of texts: _It’s Charles. Can you call me?_

Once the message had been delivered, he let the phone slide out of his hand and pressed back into the pillows, shutting his eyes tightly again. What if Erik really _was_ at work? What if it took him hours to see Charles’s text? What if he saw Charles’s number and ignored it?

Gritting his teeth, Charles picked up his phone again and texted, _Emergency_. There. Erik couldn’t ignore that, could he?

Several minutes passed in absolute silence. Just as Charles was starting to resign himself to a full night of agony, his phone began to buzz in his hand.

“Hello?” he said breathlessly, barely waiting until the phone was at his ear to speak.

“Charles?”

Erik didn’t sound annoyed or angry at least. Keeping his eyes closed, Charles said, “I’m not…I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“I’m at work.”

“Oh.”

“What’s the emergency?”

“Er…” Charles bit his lip, resisting the urge to say, _Never mind, it’s nothing, sorry to bother you_. He’d just ask. If Erik said no, he couldn’t, then that was that.  

“I was wondering,” he said haltingly, “if you could…if you could run back to your place for a few minutes and, um, get me something?”

“You want me to leave work in order to get you something from my apartment?” Erik said slowly.

Charles winced. “You’re right. Never mind. It was stupid, I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll just—”

“What is it?”

“What?”

“What do you need me to get?”

Charles hesitated for a second. _You already called,_ he thought. _That was the hardest part. Might as well just tell him everything._

Sighing, he said, “It’s my meds. My Psytriptan? I left a bottle in the bathroom at your place after…Anyway, I don’t have another one right now, and I need it.”

There was a long pause, long enough that Charles started to wonder what the hell he was doing. Erik was his ex. They’d ended on bad terms, to put it lightly. Why was he asking _Erik_ a favor, of all people? He should have just called Raven. Or better yet, he should have just shoved his face in the pillow and tried his damnedest to sleep it off.

“Never mind,” he said quickly. “It’s okay, I’ll figure something out.”  

“Are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be over in thirty minutes.”

“Thirty…wait, what?”

“Lie down and close your eyes,” Erik said. “I’ll come over.”

Charles had no idea what to say for a few seconds. Finally, he managed, “Thank you.”

Erik was coming over? Shit, Erik was really coming over.

Charles thought about getting up to try to tidy up his apartment, but sitting up made his head throb like someone was taking a hammer to it. So he lay back down and shut his eyes, breathing through the pain. It wasn’t like Erik was going to stay anyway. He was going to drop off the bottle and then head back to work probably. That was fine.  

For a while, he drifted in his own head, all his attention focused on taking slow, deep breaths. The pain was awful, but it was better when he didn’t move. That was one of the first things he’d learned when the migraines had manifested along with his telepathy: pretend to be a statue, freeze, play dead.

“Charles?”

His eyes flew open. Automatically, he tried to sit up and had to bite back a whimper as new pain lanced through his left temple at the motion.

“Hey.” Erik took his elbow, steadied him. “How long has this been going on?”

“Um…” It hurt to think, but Charles forced himself to focus. “Since…ten this morning?”

Erik cursed softly. “You’ve been like this for four hours?”

Was that how long he’d been lying here, insensate with pain? Shit.

Charles turned his head toward Erik feebly. “Did you…”

“Yeah.”

Pills rattled in the bottle as Erik took it out of his pocket. Charles didn’t think he’d ever heard a more welcome sound. Erik shook a couple of tablets out into his hand and held them out, along with a glass of water. Charles propped himself up for long enough to swallow a mouthful of water and the pills, then collapsed back into the pillows.

“Thank you,” he croaked.

“Of course.”

After a moment, he realized Erik wasn’t turning to leave immediately. “I’m sorry I pulled you away from work,” he offered eventually. “I hope you weren’t with a patient or anything.”

“No, I was just doing some notes. I had a colleague cover for me.” Erik checked his watch. “I should be getting back though.”

“Right.”

Still Erik didn’t move toward the door. After a long minute, he said, “I’ll come back after my shift’s over to check on you.”

Charles’s eyes widened. “You don’t…That’s okay. I’m fine once I have my meds, you know that.”

This wasn’t the first migraine Erik had witnessed, after all. In the past, when they’d been together, Erik had usually sat with Charles, held him, and stroked his hair, and that had eased the pain, but…well, that was the past. Charles could hardly ask him to do that now.

“You look like shit,” Erik said.

“Thanks?”

“You probably don’t even have real food here, do you?”

“I…” Charles thought of the stacks of ramen in his pantry and shut his mouth.

“You’re going to need more than that coming off this migraine,” Erik said. “I’ll be back later. I get off at six.”

His tone brooked no argument. Even if Charles wanted to protest, he was too bewildered to say anything. Then Erik was gone, sweeping out the door as suddenly as he’d come.

Too tired to figure out what the hell had just happened, Charles pulled the covers up over his head and closed his eyes again.

It took about an hour for the Psytriptan to kick in. Little by little, the hellish pain scraping at his skull dulled, and when the pounding in his head finally reached a bearable level, Charles slipped into a shallow doze at last.

When he woke, his room was much darker than before, almost pitch-black. Not even a hint of sun peeked in through the gap in his blackout curtains. After a few minutes, Charles decided the throbbing in his head had subsided enough for movement to become feasible again, and he sat up gingerly.

The clock on his nightstand read 6:43. Abruptly, Charles remembered Erik had said he was coming back.

Suddenly wide awake, he threw the covers back and climbed carefully out of bed. His head still ached, but it was no longer excruciating enough to make him wish someone would just put him out of his misery. He didn’t try to sweep his apartment mentally to see if anyone was present though; bad migraines always left his head sore, and using his telepathy usually made it worse.

He paused to scoop up his sweatshirt from the chair in the corner and tug it on before opening the bedroom door. Someone was definitely here: he could hear something bubbling in the kitchen. Before he’d even made it halfway down the hall, he could already smell something delicious—and familiar.

He stopped in the doorway to the kitchen and just looked at Erik for a long moment. He was standing with his back to Charles, stirring a pot on the stove. Four months apart hadn’t changed him one bit—he was still as tall and lean and terribly attractive as he’d always been, all broad shoulders and gorgeous long lines. Charles watched as a knife extricated itself from the knife block at a gesture of Erik’s hand. It was those hands Charles had first fallen in love with, those lovely, elegant, surgeon’s hands wrapped around the drink Charles had bought for him in that dingy bar where they’d met.

“Feeling better?” Erik asked without turning around.

Charles detached himself from the doorway and came forward slowly. “Yeah. Thank you.” He watched as Erik began to dice a carrot, each cut sharp and precise. As Erik finished that one and reached for another, Charles said, “What are you…doing here?”

“Making dinner,” Erik said, as if that were obvious.

“I can see that. But…why?”

“You always feel like shit when you don’t have a proper meal after a migraine.”

Was Erik concerned about him? Was Erik _taking care of him?_ Charles could feel his head spinning again, this time in confusion. “You could have dropped off some takeout.”

Erik didn’t say anything to that. After a long minute, Charles went and took a seat hesitantly at the breakfast table. He had to fight the urge to fidget. Why did he feel like _he_ was the one intruding? How did Erik look so at ease here, standing in Charles’s kitchen, cooking him matzah ball soup as if the last four months hadn’t happened, as if they’d never broken up?

Neither of them spoke again until dinner was ready. Erik fetched bowls and spoons from the cabinets and served them each a portion. Setting Charles’s bowl in front of him, Erik sat down in the chair opposite. Then he looked up at Charles, and their eyes met for the first time in—well, in four months.

“What are you doing here?” Charles asked quietly.

Erik leaned back in his seat. “The truth?” he said, then paused for a long moment. His thumb ran along the handle of his spoon, a restless gesture. Part of Charles wanted badly to reach for his mind, soreness be damned. But he was too afraid to.  

Finally, Erik said, “I missed you.”

Charles absorbed that in silence, trying to work out how he felt about that. Erik had missed him. That meant something, didn’t it? Did Charles _want_ it to mean something?

The answer to that was so obvious, he couldn’t lie to himself. Of course he wanted it to mean something. He’d missed Erik like mad every single day since they’d split.

Erik set his spoon down. “I should go.”

“No!” Charles started to shake his head, then winced at the pain that flared up when he did. Rubbing at his temple, he said, “Don’t go. I…I missed you, too.”

Erik exhaled softly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d…moved on.”

“From you?” Charles’s laugh came out a touch bitter. “I don’t think there’s any moving on from that.” Then a thought struck him, and he glanced furtively over at Erik. “Did you move on?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Well…” _You weren’t,_ Charles wanted to say. _For four months, you weren’t._

Erik’s eyes softened. “No. There hasn’t been anyone since…well, since.”

Charles didn’t know how much he’d been afraid of a different answer until Erik said that. Relief coursed through him so powerfully he felt a little weak with it. He forced himself to pick up his spoon and start in on the soup before he could say something stupid like, _I’m still in love with you, you know._

They ate in silence for several minutes. The soup was delicious, as expected. It had always been Charles’s favorite, though Erik had never made a meal that Charles hadn’t liked. This felt perilously close to old times—Erik making them dinner, Erik taking care of him after a migraine, Erik just…being there. Was this going somewhere? Charles wondered. Or was this just…an olive branch? Closure?

Charles finished his bowl in a matter of minutes. His telepathy gave him a naturally robust appetite, and migraines always left him even hungrier than usual. He didn’t get up for seconds though, just sat and watched as Erik ate, tracing those familiar lines of his face. He found he couldn’t quite remember anymore what they were fighting about that night Erik had thrown him out.

“Get some more,” Erik said. “I know you’re still hungry.”

“Yeah.”

Charles filled his bowl again, then sat back down. Picking up his spoon, he stirred the broth for a moment before looking over at Erik. Tentatively, he asked, “How is work?”

“The same as ever. How’s school?”

“Same.” Charles watched the steam rise from his bowl. “I’m about to start applying for residency.”

“Are you still thinking about doing internal medicine?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. It suits you.”

“I was thinking I want to do ICU work in the future. After residency.”

Erik nodded. “That suits you, too.”

They fell silent again. Charles bit his lip, trying to think of something to say. It was strange how awkward things felt now when they’d once been so comfortable with each other. Had things changed that much? Was it possible to go back?

“Erik?”

“Hm?”

“I just…” Charles stopped stirring his soup and made himself look up. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. The last time we saw each other, I said a lot of stupid, cruel things that I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Erik stopped stirring his soup, too. “I’m sorry, too. You weren’t the only one who said things you didn’t mean.”

 _Here goes,_ Charles thought, taking a deep breath. “I really missed you. I’ve missed you every day. I wish we’d never broken up.”

His heart was pounding a mile a minute. He struggled not to say anything else, to give Erik time to respond.

“I wish we’d never broken up either,” Erik said after a pause. “Letting things end that way was a mistake, mostly on my part. I should have called. I wanted to call.”

“I wanted to call, too,” Charles blurted out. “But you were so angry and I thought—I didn’t think you wanted me to call. I didn’t think you ever wanted to hear from me again.”

Erik leaned forward slightly. Charles didn’t think he was misreading the openness he saw there, the glimmer of hope. “You called today.”

“I did. And you dropped everything to come over and help me. And you made me dinner.”

“I was trying to make a…grand gesture, I guess. Sort of.”

Charles smiled. “Well, it worked.”

Erik smiled, too. “Good.”

“Do you think…” Charles had to stop for a moment to get his thoughts in order. A hundred different things rushed through his head: happiness and relief and tentative hope and more questions, a slew of questions. It took him a few seconds to pick out the most important one. “Can we give it another try? Us?”

Erik didn’t hesitate for even half a second. His smile widening, he said, “I’d like that.”

Charles could feel his own smile starting to take on a giddy edge. “Do you want to stay over tonight? Not for…we can take things slow, of course, it’d just be nice to have you over.”

“You just want someone around to give you a scalp massage,” Erik teased.

Charles laughed. “Guilty as charged. And I’ll be using you for your body warmth, too, don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.” Erik gazed at him for a long moment, his eyes soft with contentment and affection. It was a look Charles had never thought he’d see again, and it filled him with a rush of warmth, like a fire roaring to life in a long-cold hearth.

“Eat up,” Erik said finally. “There’s plenty left.”

Charles finished that bowl, then another, and then he washed the dishes while Erik packed away the leftovers. Once that was done, Charles led the way back to his bedroom. When Erik started to sit down on the bed, Charles said, “Wait.”

He could feel Erik’s eyes on him as he went over to the dresser, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “This is probably more comfortable than your jeans,” he said, holding them out.

“You kept my drawer,” Erik said slowly, taking the clothes from him.

“Yeah.” He forced a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I was in denial.”

After a moment, Erik laughed softly, too. “Me too. I still have everything you left at my place. I was going to have you come pick it up but…”

“At least I’ll still have a toothbrush the next time I go over to your place,” Charles ventured.

Erik smiled. “Yeah.”

Charles grabbed his pajamas and went to the bathroom to relieve himself, brush his teeth, and change. By the time he came back out, Erik had changed as well and sat on the left side of the bed—his side.

The sight filled Charles with such happiness that he could feel it spilling over his shields as he climbed onto the bed and burrowed into Erik’s side. Erik tugged him closer with an arm around his shoulders and, after a few seconds, turned his head to press a brief kiss to Charles’s temple.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Charles mumbled into his neck. “Let’s never do that again.”

Erik’s arm tightened around him. “Deal.”

A moment later, Erik’s fingers began to card gently through Charles’s hair. Eyes slipping shut, Charles sighed softly and leaned into the caress, savoring every second of it. The pain in his head had receded to a dull ache, barely noticeable now. Having Erik here, holding him like this, was more than enough to hold it at bay.

“Get some sleep,” Erik murmured. “You’re exhausted—I can feel it.”

“Mm.” Charles wrapped an arm around his waist and snuggled a little closer. “Do you have work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I have to be in by seven. Do you have class?”

“Nothing mandatory. Will you wake me up before you go?”

“You want to willingly wake up before seven? Who are you, and what have you done with the real Charles?”

Charles laughed. “I just want to tell my boyfriend good morning and have a good day,” he said as casually as he could manage. “Is that okay?”

Erik was silent for a moment. Pressed as close as they were, Charles could glimpse his surface thoughts without trying—he could see Erik’s spark of surprise at the word _boyfriend_ , followed quickly by pleasure.

“Yes,” he said, ruffling Charles’s hair, “that’s okay.”

With Erik’s comfortingly familiar mind so close and his fingers running through Charles’s hair, it wasn’t long before Charles drifted off.

He slept deeply and dreamlessly and woke up ten hours later to the delicious aroma of coffee permeating the entire apartment. Keeping his eyes closed, he reached out with his telepathy, found Erik in the kitchen, and whispered a tentative, _Good morning._

He felt Erik’s surprise, then quiet happiness. _Good morning yourself. I was going to come wake you up after I finished making coffee._

_Come wake me up after. I’m not getting out of bed a second sooner than I have to._

Erik’s fond amusement washed warmly over him. After a moment, Charles withdrew to his own mind and just lay there staring at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot.

Only a few seconds had passed before he decided he couldn’t wait and threw back the covers. Padding down the hallway, he slipped into the kitchen and pressed himself up against Erik’s back, hugging him from behind.

“Good morning,” he said into Erik’s shoulder. “A proper good morning.”

Erik laughed. “Good morning to you, too. Coffee?”

“Yes please.”

Erik leaned up to fetch another mug from the cabinet beside the sink. After setting it down, he tugged Charles out from behind him and gave him a kiss, slow and sweet.

Kissing him was even better than Charles had remembered.

“Go sit down,” Erik said after they parted. “I’ll make some toast, too. If you have any bread that isn’t moldy around here, that is.”

Charles laughed. “I’m sure I do. Somewhere.”

Settling in at the kitchen table, he leaned his head against his hand and watched as Erik made them breakfast. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed these early mornings together, sharing a space, keeping each other company. Now that he had it again, he knew he couldn’t ever let it go. He was going to do his damnedest to make it work this time.

“What?” Erik said, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Hm?”

“You’re smiling.”

He knew he was. He couldn’t stop. “Maybe I’m happy.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” Charles laughed brightly. “Yes. Absolutely.”

 

 


End file.
